| http://www.w3.org/ns/prov#value | - Downstairs again, he sat amidst his father's bones and his mother's bones, reading the book, except, page after page, the volume contained no print, only Polaroids, affixed with yellowed tape, Polaroids of his mother and other women, in garters and brassieres, or nothing at all, seated on loveseats with coy smiles and heavy black beavers, their pink vaginal lips spread, strange ruby folds unfolded
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